Differences
by FudgeYikes
Summary: Pain can be hidden, but it's permanent on a person. Like a tattoo.


**Notes:** Hey, so this story of mine portrays the Joker and Harleen Quinzel in a nolanverse-esque way. The story ark does follow the plot of Batman Begins/The Dark Knight but with plenty of tweaks from my own mind. So _basically,_ I definitely wouldn't call this canon. No, no no no. That being said, please no hating on my free choices; it's my mind and it can do whatever the fuck it wants.

 **Disclaimer:** I, sadly do not own any of the characters of the DC universe, nor DC Comics itself. _y._

Harleen knew the danger of attending a party hosted by Bruce Wayne with Harvey Dent as the guest of honour. _Everyone did._ For most, it was a risk they were willing to take, even if the Joker had a target on the seemingly perfect district attorney's back. After all, with free champagne and delicacies , the blonde was in no position to refuse such an invitation. Harleen was in no way a member of Gotham's elite either, but with a lucky run-in with a certain millionaire playboy, a sealed beige envelope soon found its way to the shabby apartment the woman called home.

Now here she was, standing in front of a spotty mirror and feeling awfully self conscious of her ruby red gown. It wasn't just that either, every time blue eyes met with the ones in the mirror, a cringe would be grated onto her features. It was. . . Her little accident.

The Narrows was a dangerous place - Harleen obviously knew this. Even if she did, it didn't stop the blonde from pushing to the back of her mind arrogantly as she decided going for a midnight stroll would be an excellent idea. The moment that hand grabbed her delicate wrist, she knew the depth of her mistake. A madly grinning, black haired man appeared in view, holding Harleen down with his knees. She struggled, all up until the glint of a switch blade shewn into baby blue eyes. That's when all movement on her behalf stopped. Harleen was convinced she was going to die and with that thought in her mind, it felt like all muscles simply froze up. Refusing to work even when the woman needed them most.

"What's a _pretty_ lady like you doing in a _place_ like this?"

The stranger's question was met with complete silence, Harleen mustering a look of disgust. Strings of black greasy hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head, a small tsk' was heard, with that, the click of the switch blade.

"Missy, do you know who the Joker is? Well you could learn a thing or two from him."

Brims twist into yet another vile smile, continuing his little spiel.

"Ya' see. . . I worked for that asshole once. He told me to **smile** more."

The emphasis caused Harleen to whimper out, soon figuring out what this devil of a man had decided for her fate.

"Now you could use a little smile, most definitely could."

With those words and in between screams of horror, the criminal pressed the blade against the inside of her mouth, announcing ' open wide ! ' like a dentist from hell. With little force, this man was able to cut the muscles of her cheek into an artificial smile. One filled with the hot metallic and wet taste of blood. Like a two year-old inspecting his art, the man continued to the right side, cutting a longer side. Blade hitting a hypersensitive piece, screams filled the dark alley she found herself in, the crimson substance leaking from wounds and mouth.

'Be-au-ti-ful. Simply gorgeous."

An almost tired sigh leaving the man, he looked down to Harleen with a sense of pity. Harleen, exhausted had given up on her will to move and was completely content staying there to die. Eye's blurry and body on the edge of unconscious, she allowed her eyes to slowly close, darkness enveloping her. Was this really death?

She was first met with the sense of hearing, ears filled with the sound of fluorescent lights; that sweet buzz. All other senses went sour though, pain swallowing the rest whole. The situation hit Harleen like a train, silent tears pooling from the shock of it all. _She. Wasn't. Dead._ Hell, she wanted a fucking congratulations sign for that. Despite the clouds of a hard recovery ahead, that's when the blonde decided. No one would ever hurt her again, not family, lovers or strangers.

Hands clenched in fists, all that anger gather up was released through a kicking fit, foot finding contact with the small garbage can to the left of the bathroom. Glancing down to the gold plated watch wrapped around her right wrist, Harleen cursed, realising she was late.


End file.
